What A Drag
by LaylanatorXVII
Summary: A Mystic Old Crone once gave Odysseus some bad news concerning him and the Trojan War. Odysseus does so hate Mystic Old Crones. Thetis received some news as well- and she is determined to keep her son out of the war at all costs- even if the price is his dignity. Achilles is wondering if death might not be the better alternative. Warnings inside- R&R, please.


_A/N: At long last, she is finito! This is the longest thing I have ever written._

 _Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the marvelously titled:_ "What A Drag! _" Alternate Title:_ My Love Affair with the Line Break. _I apologize, because seriously, there are too many. Sorry, not sorry._

 _I swear, this is a real myth. Also, this is the second retelling I have written in which a man dresses in drag. I guess I have a thing for it- what the hell, me? :-)_

 _Anyway: This is_ so long. _I did my best to break it into legible sections. I considered breaking it into chapters, but ultimately decided it wasn't necessary. However, I would like to know what you all think on the matter._

 _Also: for comedy purposes, I made Achilles older in the fic than he was in the myth._

* * *

 ** _WARNINGS:_** It sounds worse than it is, I swear. Language. A teenage boy is made to cross-dress against his will played for comedy. ) Suggestive content, but nothing graphic. Lesbians and menstruation are mentioned. Any of this bothers you, get out while you can. I would rate this a high T, but if you feel differently, let me know.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I again question whether this is strictly necessary, as no one owns Greek Mythology. The argument could be made that I do in fact own it, just as much as everyone else on the planet does. However, here it is, in case the government of Greece decides it wants to be greedy with it's folklore (I doubt this is going to happen.)

* * *

Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms- I especially want your opinions on whether it works as a one-shot and if you think it's too mature for a T.

Flames will be used to keep me warm at night, as it is finally _\- finally-_ cooling down in Tennessee.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

To Achilles' horror, his mother simply nodded.

There had been nothing to prepare him for this. No omen, no sign that the world would soon abandon all reason and good sense. The kitchen looked the same as it always did, the light coming in through the window illuminating the dim space just enough to find your way without tripping. The weather was much the same as it usually was, mild and clear. He felt the circumstances would be better suited with a thunderstorm.

"No." he shook his head. "No."

Thetis gave a long-suffering sigh. "Son, be reasonable."  
" _Reasonable?!"_

"It's just until the war is over."  
"Do you _realize_ what you are asking me to do?!"

She scoffed. "Don't be silly—"  
" _I'm_ being silly? Have you _lost your mind?"_

"No."

Achilles stared at her. She stared back, unblinking.

He was not going to win this, was he?

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, he forced his gaze down to the object in his mother's hands.

It was a simple, modest green dress.

Never before, and likely never again, had a simple article of clothing inspired such terror.

Groaning in defeat, Achilles sank onto a stool at the low table. Thetis gave a smile of triumph.

#########

Achilles winced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror and pointedly turned away. " _Why_ do I have to do this again?"

Thetis gave him a look. "I have told you this already."

"Well, explain this madness again."

She huffed, and recited for what seemed like the hundredth time (why couldn't her son just trust her judgment for once? Honestly): "When you were a child I was told that you would be tragically killed in that little kerfuffle with the Trojans and the Greeks."

Achilles rolled his eyes. Not that again. "But what about that bit of bad parenting when you dipped me in the Styx, huh? Isn't that enough insurance for you?"

Thetis gave his hair a yank.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she muttered, not at all sincerely, and continued braiding. "It was _not_ bad parenting, thank you very much. I wasn't going to let you drown. And apparently it wasn't, because this prophecy came _after_ I gave you that little bath-"(Achilles snorted) "-in the River. Now, do you want one plait or two, dear?"

"Does it look like I care?"

"One it is, then."

Achilles continued staring at his feet, determinedly _not_ looking in the mirror, and muttered darkly, "If Paris could just keep it in his pants—"  
"What was that?" his mother cut in sharply.

"Nothing."

#######

Thetis sighed (it seemed she was doing that far too often lately) and said, "Come on. You can't hide in that shadow forever."

"Watch me."

Thetis directed her gaze skyward, and begged for patience. Without it, she was going to murder her son, and all this would be a moot point in any case.

"Don't make me drag you out of there."

A decidedly skeptical noise emanated from the dark corner where the two buildings met. Thetis could not believe that her son, almost grown, for the gods' sakes, was hiding from her like a mere toddler. It was ridiculous.

Thetis briefly entertained the notion of hurling her water jug in his direction. But then, she reasoned, her jug would break and Achilles would use this as an excuse to go back inside now that they had no means of fetching water. Instead, she reeled in her frustration (the boy didn't know what was good for him, she swore she would have to follow him everywhere) and spoke in a carefully controlled, nonchalant voice. Achilles was instantly put on edge.

"Well, my son, you have but two options. You can either come along quietly and no one will take a second look at you-" There was a scoff, which she ignored and plowed on. "- _or,"_ she paused for effect (let it not be said she learned nothing from having forty-nine sisters; she was the master of drama) - "you can kick up a fuss and attract a lot of attention." She shifted the empty jug to one hip, inspecting her nails. "Your choice."

Achilles briefly considered taking her jug and hitting her over the head with it. But then, he reasoned, the jug might break and he might step on a fragment and he would die. It sucked sometimes to always have to be mindful of that one heel.

So, wary of pointy objects that might bring his young life to a close (although death was beginning to look very tempting, considering the circumstances) he shuffled out of his safe haven of shadow into the light.

Thetis grabbed him by the elbow, and, smiling serenely (while internally cackling with glee at her triumph), steered him out into the open.

#####

Achilles was sixteen years old. While most young people his age tended to feel self-conscious about the way they looked, that stage had somehow managed to pass him by. Everything had always seemed to fall into place exactly when it was supposed to, and he had breezed through adolescence and all the awkwardness it contained for most of his peers.

He wondered if this was the gods' way of punishing him.

For, now, as his mother confidently pulled him along, nodding and smiling to strangers she met on the path, he was hyper-aware of every move he made. His hands kept drifting to his hairline, habitually trying to brush back hair that wasn't where it was supposed to be, instead tied back in a braid that pulled at the roots of his hair and made his head ache. Not to mention the fact that the sun seemed to always be in his eyes without the screen of hair to shield them. His mother kept swatting at his hands where they kept tugging at the hem of the dress, as though trying to make it cover more of his legs, which felt irrationally cold (despite the sunny weather) with the unfamiliar breeze swirling around them.

This was never going to work.

######

"This is _never_ going to work," he hissed to his mother, staring uneasily at the well, and the women gathered around it.

"Nonsense, of course it will." She said, her smile fixed in place as she guided him in the well's direction-or tried to, as his feet were once again firmly planted in place. "No one in this town knows us from Epimetheus*. No one is going to recognize you. So just smile, keep your mouth shut, and don't do anything stupid."

She pulled at his arm again, and he grudgingly followed. "I just don't see why we couldn't do a trial run in a less extreme way," he whispered harshly, eyes locked on the group of chattering women.

"Go big or go home," she chirped, and before he could ask what that meant, she had led him into the flock of females.

#####

Initially, to his surprise and relief, the ladies paid him absolutely no attention. They seemed much more interested in getting acquainted with his mother, asking where she was from, what her business was in town, what she thought about the weather.

If only it had lasted.

"And is this your daughter, Thetis?"

Achilles gritted his teeth.

"Yes, this is Pyrrha," his mother said brightly, waving a hand in his direction. Then in an undertone: "She's rather shy, doesn't speak much. That's why I brought her with me today; I'm trying to expose her to society a bit."

"Oh, the poor dear." To Achilles' horror, the attention of the group was suddenly diverted to him. One of them even began to approach him. Oh, Zeus.

"My Issa was the same way, and she got over it after a while. It just takes t-"The woman, a rather round woman with curly red hair, stopped abruptly as she caught sight of his face, an indecipherable expression on her own. Achilles froze, his breath catching in his throat.

They were caught. Oh, Zeus, they were caught. He had told her, he had told Thetis this wasn't going to work. He didn't know what they were going to do to him (in his panic he completely forgot that he was, for the most part, impenetrable) but he didn't want to find ou-

"Why, she's _lovely_!"

Wait, what?

The redhead reached out and snagged another woman by the waist, this one a mere wisp of a thing, and pulled her towards Achilles, who was now in a state of shock.

"Look at her, Amara. Isn't she simply gorgeous?"

To Achilles' amazement (and, oddly, growing horror) she, too smiled and voiced her agreement. "Positively stunning! How do you keep your hair so glossy, dear?"

In an instant, Achilles was surrounded by a veritable horde of chattering women, each of them praising his feminine beauty. While ordinarily he wouldn't mind being surrounded by a crowd of adoring women, now he was quite alarmed, and desperately glanced over the head of a woman babbling something about his skin, searching out his mother for guidance.

Thetis, damn her, was filling her jug from the abandoned water pail, smirking.

#######

After several minutes of fawning, the women seemed to recall that she was "shy" and retreated, leaving him alone.

"You really do have a simply bewitching daughter, Thetis," the red-haired woman said as they prepared to go.

"Thank you, Anthousa," his mother smiled, stepping onto the path. "Come along, Pyrrha."

Then:

"Pyrrha?" his mother repeated. Achilles kept staring absently at his feet.

She rolled her eyes and hissed under her breath, _"Achilles!"_

Achilles started and stumbled after her.

Thetis gave a chittery laugh and threw over her shoulder, "Always off in her own world! Come, darling. We must get home."

#####

Night was beginning to fall by the time they made it back to their own little town. Thetis had long since delegated the jug-carrying to Achilles, and, glad for something to do besides dwell on the events of the afternoon, did not mind.

Thetis smoothed down the front of her dress and said brightly. "Well, I thought it went splendidly."

Achilles stopped in his tracks, staring at her.

Thetis stopped as well and turned to face him. "I mean, except for the bit at the end where you forgot your own name, which, by the way, you better get used to, because you're going to be using it for a while—"

"That was the single most degrading hour of my existence, mother."

Thetis blinked innocently and replied, "Whatever do you mean? They had nothing but positive things to say about you."

Achilles gaped. "They practically emasculated me in a few fell swoops, mother!"

Thetis sighed heavily and continued walking. Achilles absently met her pace. "Emasculation is sort of the point, son—"At Achilles' expression, she quickly added, "Not literally! Dear gods, what kind of mother do you think I am?"

"The kind of mother who forces her son to enter a public space dressed in drag," was the deadpan response.

Thetis ignored him and continued, "Until this whole Trojan affair is over," -she waved her arms about submissively, as though this were a mere spat instead of the ten-year war they both knew was coming- "you are going to have to make an effort to act, well…feminine."

"Death is sounding better by the minute."

Sometimes Thetis wondered why she even bothered.

#####

Achilles was, yet again, in the kitchen when his mother decided to drop the proverbial bomb. He was sitting morosely at the table, staring at the rough wood grain, pondering the derelict state of his masculinity, and wondering if there were some way he could recover it somehow.

Thetis stepped inside and shut the door with a snap. Achilles, engrossed in whether having "a perfect complexion" was detrimental to his manliness, and wondering if there were some way he could muck it up somehow, didn't notice.

"Achilles?"

Achilles didn't respond, now absently tracing a trail in the table that looked disturbingly like a noose, and reflecting on the state of his nails, which, now that he looked at them, were far too well-kept for a man's. He ought to get some dirt under them.

"Achilles, are you even listening?"

He, to all appearances, was still ignoring her.

There was a beat of silence.

"I've arranged for you to wed Acacius Castellanos tomorrow morning."

Achille's head snapped around so fast that his neck popped. " _What?"  
_ Thetis laughed lightly (which, to all that knew her, was worse than if she had cackled)and said, "Oh, you should have seen your face, darling, it was simply priceless."

It took a couple of seconds for Achilles' horrified mind to comprehend what she was saying, but once he did, he visibly relaxed. He let out a shivering exhale, and said weakly, "So I'm _not_ really arranged to marry anyone, specifically hideous sheep herders who smell and talk to themselves?"

Thetis rolled her eyes. "Of course not. What kind of mother do you think I am?"

Achilles opened his mouth to reply, but Thetis cut him off. "Don't answer that question. And anyway, I got your attention didn't I?"

Achilles slumped back against the table, his body weight on his elbows. "Yes, I suppose. What did you need it for, anyway?"

######

Oh, no, this was _much_ worse than marrying Acacius Castellanos. Achilles could not believe he just thought that sentence.

"No."

Thetis rolled her eyes. "Not this again."

"Yes, I mean, no. I mean, I'm not doing it. It will never work."

"Of course it will. The trial at the well went perfectly, this will be no different."

He stared at her incredulously. "There is an astronomical difference between spending a quarter of an hour with seven or eight women, in which, I remind you, I never said a single word, and _living_ for an indeterminable amount of time with a house full of them! They are going to notice something is off."

Thetis waved a hand dismissively. Achilles again questioned her sanity.

"Just do as I say, and you'll be perfectly fine."

Achilles, sensing again defeat, groaned and put his head down on the table.

"It'll be fine," Thetis crooned soothingly, laying a hand on Achilles' shoulder. Achilles was not much soothed. "Just do as I say, mind your pis and rhos*, and be a lady-in-waiting for a few years. Capsice?"

Sometimes he wondered where his mother got these phrases.

######

Achilles yanked down on the skirt again where it kept blowing around in the breeze. How did women put up with these things? It was maddening.

Thetis sat beside him in the wagon, steering. She had started talking the moment they set out for Skyros, had kept up a steady stream ever since, and showed no signs of stopping. Achilles made his best effort to listen, although his treacherous mind insisted on dwelling on the fact that within a few hours he would be aboard- _gulp_ \- a ship. (Achilles had been to sea only once in his life, when he was seven years old. It had not gone well. Thetis had found the irony entirely too amusing.*)

"—and don't stare, dear. It's a dead giveaway, and rather rude in any case. Especially if they're naked—"  
Achilles perked up at this. Thetis threw him a disapproving glace, and continued:

"—exactly, if you act like that every time they strip down, and they will at some point, nudity is not that big a deal among members of the same sex, then this ruse is going to be over rather quickly."

Achilles slumped a little in his seat.

Thetis smiled slightly and sat up a little straighter.

"And every month or so, it would be well-advised if you would look a little pained—"

Achilles threw his hands over his ears, rather childishly, and said loudly, "Mother!"

"—don't be childish, Achilles, it's a fact of life. Anyway, and when the other girls act a little testy around that time-" she spoke a little louder in order to be heard over Achilles' humming, a futile attempt to drown her out- "-then it would be best to act sympathetic and give them a bit of space. Oh, and if they try to talk to you, then don't freak out if they cry and get a bit emotional. Women are very sensitive creatures—"

Oh, gods, Achilles thought. It was either moon cycles or feelings. He didn't know which was worse.

Thetis suddenly fell silent, and Achilles warily uncovered his ears.

"And try not to do anything that would make..a mess."

Achilles turned slowly in her direction, suspicion growing in the back of his brain. "Like?" he warily ground out.

"Like mast-"

Achilles suddenly sat straight up, face going red, looking anywhere but at his mother, and said loudly, "MESSAGE CONVEYED. STOP TALKING NOW."

Thetis hid a smile. "It's a legitimate concern. I know you boys have…urges-"

"CONVERSATION OVER."

Thetis bit her lip to keep from laughing.

#####

Achilles gazed at the castle, dread pooling in his stomach. This was going to be a disaster.

Thetis grabbed his hand and, with a cheery smile, lead him towards the doors. "Now, remember what I told you." And with a sideways glance, she whispered, "You look lovely."

Before Achilles could respond- and oh, was he going to respond- the doors opened and they walked through.

This was going to be a long several months.

Or years.

Or—

Maybe it was better not to think about it.

* * *

.*.*.*.

The ship heaved and rocked from side to side, causing Odysseus's stomach to lurch sickeningly in terrible tandem with each motion. Seawater splashed onto the deck with seemingly every swell the ship encountered, drenching anyone on deck, especially Odysseus, seeing as he was clinging to the side of the ship, retching off the side of the deck (sorry, Poseidon.)

Soaked, hunched over, and hissing mad, Odysseus resembled nothing so much as a half-drowned cat as he muttered darkly to himself between bouts of nausea.

He was going to kill Palamedes. Slowly, painfully, preferably in some way involving projectile vomiting and clothes that chafed from the layers of salt water embedded from hours of standing on a swaying deck.

Oh, and plows. Definitely plows.

* * *

Several Months Earlier

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

Odysseus was at the market, purchasing figs, when he heard the news. Penelope insisted that stewed figs were the only thing that Telemachus would eat these days, and although he suspected otherwise, he was not going to start an argument. Ever since their son had been born she had gotten a little snappish whenever it came to the topic of her eating habits, and he enjoyed being able to sleep in his own bed, thank you very much. The porch was a much more uncomfortable alter-

"Odysseus!"

At the call of his name, Odysseus turned away from the fruit stand, where he had been scowling at the sign that marked the price, and looked over his shoulder. Running up the path towards him was a local boy (Odysseus couldn't quite remember his name; he thought it might have started with an A, or perhaps an H?) who, unfortunately, seemed to idolize Odysseus. (Odysseus couldn't imagine why; the first time they had met Odysseus had been drunk as a lord and had fallen flat on his face, in a puddle, no less. The boy had apparently seen this as an act of great valor and poise, and had taken to following him around ever since.)

Odysseus briefly considered the option of ducking under the fruit stand. However, before he could so much as blink, the boy was screeching to a stop in front of him and doubled over panting, his hands on his knees.

"There are…soldiers..recruiting for…Agamemnon's…"

Odysseus was already sprinting in the other direction.

Oo00oo00o0

There were, apparently, advantages to having your own personal fanboy, Odysseus mused absently as he raced down the path back to his house. His breath was coming in pants and his legs were aching, but he kept going. He had to get there before the recruiters did.

Years before, he had heard a prophecy from a withered old crone (oh, how he hated withered old crones; they always seemed to cause problems with their dire predictions.)that had predicted that there would be a war between Greece and Troy, and if he were to go he would be gone a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, _long_ time. There was also some mention of sheep and someone named Calypso, but at the time he had been too horrified to pay attention to the details. Thus, when he first heard the stirrings of discord in the land and smelled war brewing (it had a very distinct smell, war. Like meat turned rancid and foul, and sprinkled generously with horse dung- and, surprisingly, with a hint of fresh mint and potpourri. But enough about Odysseus's supernatural olfactory senses.) he had formulated a plan to avoid being recruited and carted away from his wife and young son.

Unfortunately, the plan happened to be batshit insane.

Quite literally.

.

O0o0o0oo0o0o0o

Penelope started as her husband came tearing into the house, wild-eyed and hurried. He came barreling into the kitchen, ignoring her completely, and, to her horror, unearthed her bag of salt from its place beneath the counter and made off with it thrown over his shoulder, back out the door.

She stared after him, for a moment, bewildered.

Then:

"Where are my-I mean, Telemachus's- figs? Odysseus? Good Zeus, what on earth are you doing?"

O0o0o0o0o0oO

When Palamedes arrived at Odysseus's farm, the sight before him was…strange. And he had seen many, many odd things in his time serving Menelaus. (That man didn't have quite the same…disposition as his brother, and threw a wild party or two in his day. Some things could never be unseen.)

However, it was not every day that you observed a man plowing a field with an oxen and a donkey, tossing about salt and singing a sea shanty at the top of his lungs.

Odysseus had stripped himself of his shirt, was covered in earth, and was barefoot. He was, apparently quite contentedly, steering a lopsided plow hitched to a donkey and an oxen. The dissonance between the strides of the animals caused the plow to lurch and stop at infrequent intervals, occasionally causing (the evidently oblivious) Odysseus to pitch forward painfully into the plow, before the animals would start again. And Odysseus was singing all the while, a particularly lewd song about a very curvaceous (though not too bright) woman named Mary Sue.

" _Her hips were as wide as the doorway_

 _Her chest was as full as the moooon_

 _But her waist was as trim as her memory_

 _And she was always down for a scr-"_

"Odysseus?" Palamedes interrupted. He had heard the song before, and he did not, thank you very much, want to hear it again. Once was enough to imprint the images in his psyche deep enough that no amount of washing would ever make him feel clean again.

Odysseus paused mid-stride and mid-verse, a handful of salt still in his fist, and trickling out between his fingers into the ground. For a moment, the two men just stared at each other. Palamedes idly noted that there was a stick bug in Odysseus's hair.

Then, suddenly, Odysseus chucked the salt at Palamedes' face and pitched forward again, picking up the lurid verse with new vigor.

" _Mary, she seemed to be perfect_

 _But sadly, that wasn't true_

 _While in the sack she was a goddess_

 _Post-coitus, she was a shrew…."_

On the word "shrew," Odysseus threw his head back and spun in a circle, tossing salt all about him in large handfuls, cackling. Then he turned and kept leading his lurching plow as though nothing were out of the ordinary, much less as though he was being watched by a troupe of mystified (and slightly alarmed) soldiers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Palamedes spotted a woman sitting on the steps of the house with a baby cradled in one arm, apparently content to simply watch the show. Her free hand held a fig, which she bit into sloppily, and with great relish. She eyed him warily as he walked over, as though he might steal it.

"Pardon me, madam, but are you the wife of that man over there?" He gestured vaguely towards Odysseus, who was now singing a particularly vulgar stanza in which Mary's _skills_ were praised in descriptive, graphic detail. _Very_ graphic detail. Palamedes restrained a shudder.

The woman gave him a once-over, then shifted the baby in her arms so that he was sitting on her lap. The child, who he could now see was a boy, immediately grabbed the fig from her hand and started determinedly sucking and pulling at it with his gums. The woman relinquished the fruit with visible regret and hesitance.

Sighing, she glanced in Palamedes' direction and said curtly, "Penelope."

Palamedes blinked, and shuffled awkwardly. "Well, madam, we're here to recruit your husband to assist Agamemnon in the retrieval of his sister-in-law, Helen-"

Penelope muttered something. Palamedes thought he caught the words "Paris" and the phrase "..keep It in his pants."

He thought it best not to ask.

"-however, it appears your husband is…less than able."

Persephone leveled him with a deadpan look. "You think?" With that, she turned back to the spectacle her husband was making of himself.

Palamedes took a half-step forward, steeled himself (this woman was slightly terrifying; he wasn't entirely sure why) and asked, "How long has he been like this?"

"Days," Penelope said smoothly. Palamedes waited, but it seemed that nothing further was forthcoming.

He coughed. "Do you have any idea what set him off?"  
Penelope graced him with a look that clearly said " _You are an idiot"_ and adjusted the child in her lap. "When Telemachus was born, I noticed he began to act a little odd. But until two days ago, he seemed fine. Then one day in the small hours of the morning, he simply walked out the front door and started acting like a lunatic," she waved at the scene before them. "The stress of fatherhood, I suppose."

Palamedes noticed that her lips twitched slightly as she delivered her speech.

"So he's gone mad?" he said slowly.

She nodded. "Obviously. Or did you think this was normal behavior around here?"

There was something off here, It seemed rather convenient that the man had gone mad just in time to avoid being drafted, Not to mention that the woman seemed to be entirely too calm about the entire situation.

What they needed was a test.

Palamedes nodded gravely at her statement- then suddenly snatched her son from her lap and sprinted towards the field.

As he ran, he heard her outraged cries of "What? What are you doing?" "Give him back!" and several elaborate curse words that put her husband's mouth to shame, bawdy song and all.

He signaled to his men to restrain Penelope (he could hear her running along behind him) and stepped onto the field with the child.

O0o0o0o0o0o

Odysseus was pretty sure he'd broken a rib when he'd fallen forward onto the plow for the third time, and his throat was getting sore from singing the lyrics to that dirty bar song. (He swore he could feel his mother's disappointment from the underworld, Hades rest her soul.) He was also beginning to wonder how he was ever going to get anything to grow here again after all the salt he'd scattered into the soil. Damn it.

Although the expression on the man's face when he's thrown salt at him had been priceless.

But ribs would heal and he could plant somewhere else in the end if that was what it took, He just hoped that Penelope could restrain her laughter long enough to convince the recruiters that he actually was crazy before she lost it.

However, when he heard his wife scream and saw some commotion out of the corner of his eye, it took all his willpower not to turn and look.

But when Salt Guy stepped out into the path of his plow and placed Telemachus on the ground in front of the plow, perilously close to the feet of the oxen, he didn't stop to think. He pulled on the reins with all his strength and the plow screeched to a halt (literally, since donkeys and oxen don't particularly enjoy their jaws being wrenched by a panicked father.)

For a moment, Odysseus simply stared at his son, sitting obliviously in the mud, gnawing blissfully at a fig (all he seemed to be succeeding in was coating in slobber.) His heart, which for a moment seemed to have stopped entirely, now beat as if to make up for lost time; his pulse thudded in his ears and he couldn't think over the wave of crushing relief.

But then, through the all-encompassing white of relief, came the vivid scarlet of righteous paternal anger. Tearing his gaze from his son, he looked up at Salt Guy (Who shall from now on be dubbed The Bastard, Odysseus decided) and through the visions of grisly murder he registered the man's expression and thought:

 _Damn._

The Bastard cleared his throat and announced, "Odysseus, you are hereby summon-"

Odysseus took a step forward ( _sonofabitchI'mgonnakillyoufleshandbloodI'mgonnakillyou)_ but before he could even lift his arm, there was a loud _thwack_ and the man fell face-first into the dirt.

Telemachus gurgled happily and giggled.

Odysseus' eyes traveled slowly from the two soldiers lying prone on the ground beside the plowed plot of earth to the still form of The Bastard, up to the red-faced form of Penelope, holding a thick tree limb, fairly shaking with rage.

For a moment she simply gazed down at the Bastard, teeth gritted. Then, she strolled over to Telemachus and swung him up into her arms, smearing wet earth all over the front of her dress as she did. She seemed to neither notice nor care. Then she turned and aimed her venomous glare at the remaining soldiers standing at the edges of the yard, as if daring them to come near. Then:

"I'll pack your things, Odysseus."

Then, turning to face the house, she carelessly dropped the limb onto the head of the stirring Palamedes, effectively knocking him out for the second time.

The men all watched as she made the journey to the house and went inside.

They all breathed a sigh of relief once she was out of sight.

Odysseus was glad now that he hadn't brought up the figs.

O0o0o0o0o0

But in any case, that was how he had ended up on this godforsaken ship, on his way to a godforsaken island, just to find one godforsaken boy who was destined to win the war for the Greeks,

Damn it. All this could have been avoided if Paris could just keep it in his pants.

* * *

 **ACHILLES**

"Pyrrha? Pyrrha, where are you?"

Achilles was hiding in the closet, as a matter of fact. After living in this estrogen-infested hell for nearly a year and a half, he had riddled out all the best hiding spots. As such, he knew that for some reason, the girls never thought that anyone would stoop so low as to cram themselves into the broom closet, and therefore, never looked for him there.

Well. It helped that most of them didn't realize he was attempting to hide.

He hoped the girl (he could hardly tell them all apart by sight, let alone by voice) would leave soon. His leg was bent behind him so that his foot rested on a low shelf, and his neck was cramping from the awkward angle he had twisted it in so that the door would close behind him. If she lingered much longer, Achilles would probably be frozen and unable to leave. He took shallow breaths and prayed to every god he could think of for deliverance.

Thankfully, the girl passed the doorway without incident, heaving a heavy sigh and a muttered, "Where could she be?" before resuming her calls. "Pyrrha!"

Achilles waited until the clack of her footsteps completely faded before heaving a sigh of his own and flinging open the door.

"Ow!"

Achilles had a half-second to be horrified before the door bounced off the unfortunate passer-by's face and came swinging back with a vengeance.

"OW!" He recoiled and nearly fell, reaching up to cover his face. Tentatively, he stroked his lower lip. His fingertip came back bloody.

"Hades, that hurt!"

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit._ He recognized that voice.

Achilles slowly lifted his head to view the unlucky recipient of his careless door-swingage.*

Deidamia, Lycomedes' oldest daughter, stood before him, one slender hand covering her nose. Then, with surprised lilt to her voice, she exclaimed, "Pyrrha! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Achilles blinked, flabbergasted. That was it? No exclamations of anger or outbursts of rage at being unexpectedly clobbered with a door? Nothing?

"Sorry," Achilles trilled in his imitation of a woman's voice. (His mother hadn't said anything, but her expression when he first tried it out had been enough to tell him that he was not especially convincing. Luckily, none of the girls seemed to have noticed anything amiss as of yet. Or maybe they were just polite.)

Deidamia swiped at her nose with the back of her wrist and looked at it for a moment. She shrugged and held it up for him to examine. "No harm done." She looked at his face and her smile fell. "To me, at least. You, on the other hand, are bleeding buckets. Come, let's get you cleaned up." She reached out and grabbed his free hand, tugging him along. Achilles tried to ignore the crackle of electricity the contact sent tingling up his shoulder.

Deidamia led him along the winding corridors that he still couldn't keep straight, saying, "I'd ask why you were in the closet, but I can guess." Achilles tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. However, all Deidamia did was chuckle and continue, "Playing dolls with Agatha does get rather dull after a while."

Ah, Agatha. Yes. That was her name.

Deidamia led him into one of the many rooms (gods, so many rooms; he had literally gotten lost for two whole days during his first week after arrival. In hindsight, perhaps he should have known better than to ask a five-year-old for directions. Her map had not been much help either.) and pushed him down onto a stool. Then, to his horrified surprise, she reached for a cloth and leaned in close.

"Now, stay still…"

Achilles wasn't quite sure what to do. His instincts were to reach out and run his fingers through her sheet of dark hair, or perhaps kiss her, busted lip be damned. However, he stamped these urges down as best he could and gripped the edges of the seat as Deidamia leaned in very, very close to his face and wiped the blood from his chin, one slender, soft hand cradling his neck to hold him in place.

This place was hell on earth.

He was going to die here.

#####

Achilles was growing weary of this life for many reasons (not the least of which was the dreaded ritual of leg-shaving- damn these appearances he had to maintain. Not only did he die a little inside every time he committed the atrocity, but it made his legs very itchy.) He, or "Pyrrha," rather, had been taken on as a servant/playmate for Lycomede's many daughters. Unfortunately, they were all infuriating in one way or another. The younger ones only ever wanted to play dolls and dress-up, and he was constantly forced to hide from them when they approached, brandishing a wooden tiara or something equally horrifying. The elder were not much better. With the outstanding exception of Deidamia, they were all airheads who talked about nothing but men and beauty products (neither of which he was much interested in) and they were the reason he often found himself crouched on the roof every month or so (oh, how he hated the moon cycles. He simply didn't understand the utility in a physical function that caused perfectly reasonable women to turn into weepy harpies for a week.) And speaking of physical functions, there was another, more…intimate…problem with the elder daughters.

They were _hot._

Deidamia was, of course, the extraordinary example in this respect (he shivered at the memory of her hands warm against his neck and chin), but if he was being honest, he had a problem keeping his hands to himself whenever he got near the older girls. Especially at times like these, when they were only half-dressed and their hair was a silken stream of damp darkness trailing down the curve of their spine-

Achilles fumbled the water basin and flushed as Deidamia turned to look at him for a moment, and amused smile on her face, and then turned back to the mirror and resumed running the soapy cloth over her shoulders and neck.

Unbidden, Achilles' eyes followed the trail of a errant waterdrop as it rolled down her clavicle and disappeared under the low neckline of her nightgown. He jerked his eyes back to the wall over her head, and took a deep breath.

Surely he was too young to have done something worth punishment of this caliber?

Deidamia sighed and set down the cloth. She ran her fingers through the length of her hair and suddenly turned on her heel to face Achilles, startling him so badly that he nearly dropped the basin again.

"So, where did you day you were from?" Deidamia inquired softly, crossing her arms tightly under her chest, which unfortunately accented a couple of her more alluring assets. Achilles fought to keep his eyes on her face.

"Uh…" Achilles stammered for a moment, having come to the realization that her face was hardly any better as her eyes were locked intensely and directly on him. "…Rhodes."

"Hmm." She hummed, but continued watching him. Achilles was beginning to feel very uneasy.

"Not…Lesbos?"*

Achilles brain screeched to a halt. What?

As he tried to restart his thought process, Deidamia turned and walked to her dresser. She opened a door and rifled around in it for a few moments, continuing softly, "Because you seem to spend a lot of time staring at my sisters and I -the older ones especially." As she spoke, she withdrew a hairbrush and began running it through her hair. "And it hit me that, well- you might be a-"

Lesbian. She thought he was a lesbian.

At that thought, his brain suddenly kicked into gear at full speed and he vehemently-and loudly, too, judging by the way Deidamia jumped- cried, "No!"

Deidamia paused mid-stroke and turned to stare at him. She blinked once and said, "I'm not going to kick you out if you are, you know,"

Achilles stammered again and finally dropped the basin. It fell to the floor and water splashed out the sides all over the floor, but, miraculously, it did not break. "I know!" he cried insensibly. His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own at the moment. "I don't—"

He didn't what? Like girls?  
But Deidamia simply raised an eyebrow, pursed her lips slightly, and nodded. "If you say so. That doesn't explain why you stare as you do, however."

Achilles simply stood and scrambled for a response, incoherent sputtering sounds issuing from his throat as water soaked his feet.

Suddenly, Deidamia smiled and ushered him out of the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"That will be all, Pyrrha," she said as she steered him out of the doorway. "I didn't mean to offend you by the way." Achilles turned to look as she leaned against the doorway, one sleeve of her sheer nightgown slipping off her shoulder, the light from the room shining through, giving him one hell of a view that he was _not allowed to look at._ In that moment, he was convinced that the gods hated him. But before he could sink too far into despair, she continued.

"I simply needed to rule out one possibility," she murmured, her lips curving up in a mischievous grin. Achilles simply stood there in shock as she slowly looked him up and down.

"Goodnight, _Pyrrha,"_ she sing-songed and shut the door as Achilles simply remained rooted to the spot.

That wicked tease. How _long_ had she known for?

Achilles had obviously grievously wronged the gods in a past life.

####

Achilles was almost beginning to wish for discovery. Although his pride would never recover from being seen like this, at least he wouldn't have to keep up the pretense anymore. Between the shrill cries of "Dolls, Pyrrha!" and "My stomach, gods, I need some chocolate, I hate you Pyrrha! Pyrrha, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it" and the outright _teasing_ from Deidamia (he swore she had never seen such use for such sheer nightwear and low-cut dresses _before_ she caught onto his secret), he was at his wit's end.

Therefore, when the end came, he wasn't all that put out. In fact, he was downright relieved.

* * *

 **ODYSSEUS**

The first thing Odysseus did when he stumbled onto shore was fling himself face first into the dirt. For a moment he simply lay there and breathed in the wonderful, solid, unmoving, solid, unchanging, solid earth. He grabbed fistfuls and clung tightly enough that it started to ooze out of the cracks of his fingers, He thought he would have been content to simply remain in the dirt and revel in its solidity forever, but unfortunately, that's when Palamedes stepped off the boat and burst his bubble,

"All right, men- dear mother of Poseidon, Odysseus, what on Earth are you doing?"

In defiance, Odysseus flung his arms out at his sides and slapped them into the slightly damp earth with a splat. Then he swept his arms up and down, leaving fan-shaped impressions.

"Mud angel," he replied, his words slightly muffled by the earth (which crept into his mouth as soon as he opened it, but he embraced it over the taste of sea salt. There was no way these bastards were dragging him onto a ship after this.)

Palamedes heaved a heavy sigh and gestured to his men. Two broke off from the group and pulled Odysseus up by the shoulders. His entire front was stained brown, and so were his teeth as he grinned maniacally at Palamedes.

Palamedes shivered and flicked his wrist at the path leading up to the town.

Sometimes he swore Odysseus was trying to freak him out. At times he even wondered if the man really _were_ mad.

O0o0o0o0o0o

Odysseus frowned as they began trekking up the steep incline to the castle, which _of course_ had to be built on a damn mountain. His lungs were working overtime to keep him from passing out. He was fairly convinced it was a losing battle. Therefore, to distract himself from the fact that he felt like his legs were slowly turning to jelly, he considered the events of the day.

Apparently, his plan to freak Palamedes out was working splendidly. He had long given up on convincing the man that he was insane, but it was still fun to see his face whenever he did something off the wall. He would have chuckled, but his lungs already felt about the size of pinheads and he didn't want to waste oxygen. Perhaps it would have been wise to scrape off some of the mud coating his front, but it was too late now, He didn't think he had the energy. He felt his knees start to tremble as a precursor to collapse and scrambled for another train of thought.

The people in the town below the castle seemed a little too eager to help—Odysseus couldn't help but notice that they had only met women during their foray into the town, and they had sent them off with all haste towards the castle, blocking their attempts to weasel their way past them into the town. Odysseus couldn't help but feel a little bitter towards those who escaped the recruiters. They were probably evacuating all the men out of the town as they spoke, if they hadn't already.

In any case, they had been directed to the castle after being assured vehemently and repeatedly that King Lycomedes would know better than they whether any strange characters had come into town lately.

Therefore, Odysseus cursed breathlessly and swiped half-heartedly at the dried mud on his front as he struggled to keep his feet, his eyes locked onto the figure of the castle.

Damn. He was never going to make it through this war.

* * *

 **ACHILLES**

Achilles was running from Deidamia when the men came bursting through the door. Lately she had gotten even bolder in her advances, wearing clothes that bordered on the obscene and "accidently" bumping into him at every turn, more often than not knocking them over.

Achilles ducked around the corner and plastered himself to the wall, breathing shallowly. He could hear her coming down the hall he had just turned from, stopping every now and then to look in a closet.

"Pyrrha?" she crooned, the sound accompanied by the creak of an opening closet door. Her voice took on a teasing lilt. "Where are you? I would call you by your real name, but you won't tell me what it is, you naughty thing."

He had to get out of here. She just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

He could hear her footsteps growing nearer, and he cautiously shifted his stance in preparation to run.

Unfortunately, his foot brushed a stray paintbrush that had been carelessly left in the floor by one of the younger girls. As he watched in horror, it rolled noisily across the floor and into the hallway, in full view of Deidamia.

Achilles was just considering taking his chances with running anyway, when the doors burst open and twenty or so men spilled into the room.

Achilles watched, stunned, as one man, oddly covered in mud, reared up on his knees, gasping for breath.

"I'm _alive!"_ The man seemed to find this a great surprise. Achilles couldn't really blame him; the trek up the mountain was a killer.

One by one, the men stood up, all of them red in the face and clutching the stitches in their sides. Eventually, one of them turned in his direction and managed, "Lycomedes?"

Achilles raised one hand and pointed to the door on his right,

The man, obviously the leader, nodded briefly and limped in its direction. All but one of the men followed. The man covered in mud remained collapsed in a heap on the floor, laughing breathlessly, marveling at his continued state of existence.

"Nutcase," Achilles muttered, and turned to leave. Unfortunately, as soon as he turned around he was overrun by a virtual _horde_ of girls, all of them shrieking, " _Boys!"_

Achilles attempted escape, but they were too strong. And thus, he was swept helplessly along in a rolling tide of estrogen through the doors through which the men had entered.

One scream, unheard, split the air, but was overtaken by the frenzied squeals of hormonal teenage girls.

######

Well, damn, Achilles thought. The day has finally come.

Achilles stood amongst the girls in their group in the back of the throne room, watching the conversation progress. Luckily, the jabbering of the girls had died down to the occasional whisper or chittering giggle. Unfortunately, Achilles was fairly certain he would never recover from the experience of being enveloped in a whirlpool of raging hormones.

Lycomedes was sitting in his throne, listening to the leader of the group speak. The group, however, seemed mostly interested in talking amongst themselves and occasionally elbowing each other and tossing her head in the direction of one of the girls. Achilles wished they would stop; the girls they nodded at tended to collapse in an exaggerated swoon when they did, and in the commotion Deidamia kept running the sole of her foot up his calf. He was wondering if he might be able to get away with killing her.

The man from before, the one covered in mud, seemed to have nothing better to do than lean up against the wall and wait. Achilles was beginning to wonder if he had nodded off.

"Your Excellence, I am simply asking to examine your daughters, and ascertain that one of them is not this Achilles fellow." The leader paused, and hastily tacked on, "Your Excellence." Achilles thought he was slathering it on a little too thick. He was downright simpering at the man. Ugh.

In any case, Lycomedes immediately replied: " _Examine_ them?" He glanced at the group of men, who were now grinning lecherously at each other, and then at the girls. The leader followed his gaze and immediately looked mortified. "I think not, Palamedes."

Palamedes turned his glare from his men to gaze imploringly at Lycomedes again. He looked like an idiot. "King Menelaus's wife, Helen, has been kidnapped. We have been scouring the country for recruits-"

Lycomedes muttered something. "….keep it in his pants…"

Palamedes plowed on, regardless: "-and it has been prophesized that this man, Achilles, is destined to fight with the Greeks and bring us to victory! And we have heard…rumors…that he is hidden here. Please, Excellence, allow me to identify him." As he finished, he dipped low in a bow.

Even Lycomedes looked faintly ill now. "Zeus, get up, man. You make me sick."

Palamedes did not look offended in the least as he straightened up. Achilles figured he had been told that often enough that it ceased to bother him. "May I…"

"No. I am not letting those…" he glanced over at the soldiers. The Mud Man let out a snore. "…men…anywhere near my daughters."

There was a disappointed groan. Achilles didn't know whether it had come from the soldiers or the girls, as both looked devastated.

"However," Lycomedes continued, "I will give you three days to find out whether the man you're looking for is here, by _alternate means,"_ he stressed, glaring at the men, and then at his daughters, " than shamelessly groping my daughters."

Palamedes stared at him, looking stumped, as his men crossed their arms and grumbled darkly, and the girls pouted. The Mud Man jerked awake and glanced frantically around the room.

Palamedes gulped, and reluctantly nodded. "Very well." He gestured to the troop of soldiers, and they shuffled out of the room, Mud Man taking up the rear.

Achilles watched them go, half considering flinging himself out into the open and proclaiming himself to be Achilles. Unfortunately, however, Deidamia had chosen this moment to grip his arm and whisper in his ear, "Achilles, huh?"

He wondered if he could get away with murder if he pled self-defense in the face of sexual harassment.

* * *

 **ODYSSEUS**

Odysseus was growing weary of this. They had been here for two days, and still Palamedes hadn't come up with a way to pick out the male from the flock of women. He had them wandering the halls and stopping the older girls as if expecting the man to simply confess himself. Odysseus thought that Palamedes could rule out at least half of the girls by asking his men which ones they had…examined…personally. Odysseus had never met a bunch of women so desperate for male interaction. One could hardly turn the corner without being attacked by a hormonal female. But, he reasoned, they were probably the only men they had seen in years, except for their father.

In any case, Odysseus was more than ready to leave this place. While the other men seemed to find no fault with taking a girl up on her offer when she was practically throwing her skirt up over her head, he had morals and scruples (and common sense- Penelope had been terrifying with that tree bough and he was not eager to incur her wrath.) And since he was determined to return home (Although, according to the mysterious Old Crone of Destiny, it would take a long time to get there), he needed Achilles. Because according to Another Old Crone of Destiny- or it might be the same one, he didn't know- Achilles was the only one who could help them win this war. And people who had have died do not tend to return home _at all._ Destiny was a bitch.

And therefore, he had begun thinking on his own of a way to weed out the XY in this madhouse of XX. And he was pretty sure he had it.

But _damn it,_ why did his plan have to involve climbing all the way down to the ship?

* * *

 **ACHILLES**

Achilles was confused.

For one, he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he should simply confess and go with the men. His mother wouldn't be pleased, that was for certain. However, he wasn't sure he could take one more day of getting groped in dark corners by Deidamia.

For two (Was that really a phrase? Achilles didn't know, and he told his inner critic to shut up, it was his inner dialogue) they had all been called into the room on the last day of the soldiers' stay. Palamedes looked like a nervous wreck, disheveled and with dark bags under his eyes. Achilles would have felt sorry for the guy if he weren't such a greasy brownnoser. Achilles still felt a bit nauseous when he reflected on the scene at the throne.

Lycomedes was obviously winding up for the grand finale of his "Get the hell out" speech. The soldiers looked torn between delight at their leaders' predicament (obviously there was no love lost between Palamedes and the men he had recruited) and upset at leaving the girls, who were, for their part, melodramatically wailing and sobbing at their departure. A few were even waving handkerchiefs. Good gods, was he the only person in this house who wasn't a complete drama queen?

Lycomedes grin grew broader and Palamedes seemed to shrink as the speech wound to an end, Lycomedes sucked in a breath, obviously about to cut loose with his dismissal, when:

Everybody in the room whipped to the side when the door burst open to reveal Mud Man standing on the other side. He stood for a moment, trembling and heaving great gasps of air, his arms laden with bundles. He simply leaned against the doorframe for a moment, seemingly oblivious to their stares, before he pushed himself upright and gasped in the general direction of Lycomedes: "Would it _kill_ you royal types to live in a reasonable location? Zeus…"

He stumbled into the room and stopped in the middle, facing Achilles and the girls. Lycomedes merely stared, frozen in his pose, chest expanded with contained air, finger poised in the air.

Mud Man dropped the bundles unceremoniously in the floor, where they split open to reveal colorful clothes.

It was absolute pandemonium.

####

The girls descended on the pile like a flock of bloodthirsty birds, grabbing and pulling and fighting over them like a bunch of heathens. Every man in the room watched them with a profound sense of horror.

Achilles belatedly realized that he should act more excited, but could only stare in shocked awe at two girls, wrestling over a set of stockings. One of them was biting the other's ear.

He numbly dropped to his knees, trying to appear interested. As he rifled awkwardly through a few unnoticed items, he noticed a gleam of metal.

He reached out and swept a dress out of the way to expose a sword.

As with all boys, the sight immediately made his heart beat faster (oh, violence, glorious, glorious violence) and before he knew it he was picking it up and staring, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off the blade.

Suddenly,

"HOLY OLYMPUS, IS THAT THE PERSIANS COMING UP THE HILL?"

The girls clutched their garments to their chests and screamed.

The soldiers immediately scrambled to draw their weapons.

Achilles, without thinking, whirled around, and yelled, "What?! Where?!"

Mud Man stood and cackled. The sound echoed in the sudden silence. This time Palamedes wasn't the only one to give him an odd look.

However, once they were finished pondering his sanity, every head in the room turned to Achilles, who shrank under the sudden assault of dozens of eyes boring into him as he belatedly realized that perhaps he should not have screamed at the top of his lungs (in a decidedly masculine voice) and should have done something more along the lines of a swoon.

Whoops.

Well, then. He straightened. That was that. No use pretending now.

With that, he whipped his head, flinging his hair back over his shoulder (a habit he had picked up during his time here, and would sadly never recover from) and whipped in Deidamia's direction. She looked crestfallen, obviously realizing that her object of obsession was soon to be whisked away to war, one stocking hanging limply from one hand.

Without hesitation, he stomped over to her, swung her into a dip, and kissed her soundly. Might as well collect on all that sexual frustration now that the secret was out, he reasoned.

Two soldiers came stumbling in late, took one look at the scene and grinned. One nudged the other.

After a moment, Achilles straightened, placed Deidamia back onto her feet (she stood with a dazed expression) and turned to Palamedes.

"Well, boys, you caught me. When do we leave?"

The late soldiers' shoulders slumped in disappointment.*

* * *

THREE DAYS LATER

Somewhere in the middle of the ocean, there were two men heaving over the side of a boat. Between heaves, they explained to one another how they had come to be there.

"…and then-" Achilles waited patiently while Odysseus finished. Odysseus wiped his mouth and continued. "- and then the son of a bitch put my kid in front of the plow. What was I supposed to do?"

Achilles nodded and then curled further over the rail himself. Odysseus patted him on the back, then asked, "So, how the hell did you end up in that den of horror?"

Achilles gave him a dark look. "My mother is a cruel woman."

Odysseus whistled lowly through his teeth. "Sounds like a drag."

Achilles moaned and pressed his head to the railing. "You don't know the half of it."

* * *

 _*_ Epimetheus was the first man in the Greek creation story. A play on "know you from Adam."

*Pis and rhos is "p's and q's" using the Greek alphabet.

*Thetis's father is a god of the sea, and therefore Achilles is his grandson. I found the irony to be amusing.

*"Swingage" is a word, damn it.

*There is a theory that lesbianism got it's name from the Greek island of Lesbos, which allegedly contained a high population of homosexual women.

*Men's obsession with chicks making out will never cease to mystify me.

* * *

 _A/N: Finally, here we are at the end. It has been one hell of a ride._

 _Please leave a review and tell me what you thought- I would love to know._

 _Thanks for reading!_


End file.
